


Déjà Vu

by Saeva



Series: Id Est [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bromance, Bromance to Romance, Community: avengerkink, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Psychological Torture, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:09:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeva/pseuds/Saeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has unhealthy coping mechanisms AKA The Time Clint and Tony Got Kidnapped & Clint Had A Very Bad Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete and will be posted over the next couple of days. I've broken it into pieces because, at 13,600 words it'd be time consuming to get through in one sitting. 
> 
> Please pay attention to the violence warning. The torture isn't as graphic as it could be but it's there. 
> 
> Written for [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17613.html?thread=39861965) at the [AvengerKink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/) community: "Clint is kidnapped by the baddies of the week and tortured for a few days before cavalry bursts in to save the day. When they get there, Clint is almost unresponsive, only later he wakes up and can report every single thing that happened during his kidnap. It turns out that Clint can just 'turn off' and completely tune out, so that he won't risk revealing everything during the torture. Cue team's reactions, because that's useful, but also pretty fucked up."
> 
> It also has the tiniest bit of pre-slash because I'm thinking about writing a sequel that deals with the aftermath of what happened here; if I do that'll be Ironhawk.

Being attached to metal bars by handcuffs in a no good, not kinky bed-sex way is something Tony's getting depressingly used to in his life. Ten Rings. Mandarin. That thing with that stuff that did that thing (Tony doesn't even like to think about that time and he's still jumpy around Bucky fucking Barnes). This is the fourth time in his life that he comes back to consciousness in a state of captivity and for the first few moments he simply sighs, letting the deja vu roll over him. 

Then he opens his eyes. 

The room he's in is small, almost claustrophobic, and mostly empty. There's the broad cot that he's currently laying on, hands attached to bar along the wall that's vaguely familiar. The room itself is tile and there's a nozzle on the wall at his feet. There's a metal chair in the center of the room; Tony blocks out the rest for the moment. 

And there's a drain in the center of the floor. 

It's familiar in a generic sort of way and his brain offers up a handicap shower stall, except this one has a full, sturdy looking door. Tony's fucked more than a few people in a stall like this before and this one is larger than most but he's still pretty sure that's what it is. He turns his attention back to the chair. 

Clint's in here with him. 

Taking a deep breath he reminds himself that he's been awake for approximately three minutes and forty-two seconds without a panic attack and he'd like to continue on in that vein. Panicking will not help. He repeats that to himself five more times before he can breathe normally again. Then he sits up, his head protesting the change in position with a spike of pain straight from his thalamus to him. Fuck his thalamus. Everything feels fuzzy, like he's thinking at half-speed, but him at half-speed is still faster than most people think normally so he uses his time to assess their options. 

He's handcuffed to the safety railing and he's not naked but he doesn't have his suit. He also isn't in normal handcuffs; these are sturdier looking with some sort of mechanism protecting the lock, like they'd planned for him to try to pick it. That's not good. He'd rather be captive of people that underestimate him. Like the Ten Rings's pricks. Or Obie. Or fucking Killian. Underestimation is something he could work with. Without his suit he's wearing a form fitting adapted wetsuit intended to minimize uncomfortable things like sweating when he's saving the world. Without his suit he doesn't have a link to JARVIS. 

He really fucking wants a link to JARVIS. 

Without pockets he doesn't really have anything that can pick the lock on the handcuffs, even without the mechanism protecting it (though he's sure he can think his way around that complication), and he turns carefully, trying to get his arms comfortable as he sits, to assess what Clint has. 

Clint has a black eye. 

That isn't helpful and Tony tries to push the knowledge away, to keep focus. He can focus. He can do this. He isn't going to let his team member down. _Okay, so. Clint isn't naked either._ That's good, very good, because the other man has about a thousand pockets in his outfit. Tony knows because he's the one that redesigned the outfit for the archer, putting in pockets that hid all sorts of benign looking special projects. With any luck their captives didn't think to take items that look like a stray marble or a completely normal fold of paper or all the other things Tony's messed around with since the assault on the fake Mandarin's house. He wanted to be prepared if he ever got separated from his suit again. This can only help. 

It helps him calm down. 

And then it doesn't because Clint gives a pained groan and tilts his head up then back, blinking a few times before gasping, "Tony?" 

"I'm here, Legolas." 

It takes longer than it should for Clint to focus on him. He might have a concussion. Concussions aren't good. _Fuck._ "Do you know where 'here' is?"

"Some sort of handicap shower stall, I think. But with a real door. Otherwise, no. They took my uplink to JARVIS." 

Clint considers that, then says, "Mine too. Are you injured?"

"My head feels like I've got a hangover from half a dozen Jägerbombs but other than that... I'm a bit sore. That's it. I'm good. You've got a black eye." 

"And apparently I went drinking with you," he snarks lightly before blinking intensely, his eyes squeezing shut for a second or two before refocusing. "We were taking out a weapons' stash. You asked me to come along as backup because Pepper threatened to make you do your own paperwork the next time you went out without someone. We'd just breached the warehouse when... That's all I've got." 

When Tony reaches into his memory, trying to piece together anything else that might tell them what happened, he finds a real blank. Warehouse breach. Waking up with headache, cuffed to a fucking safety bar. "Got nothing here. You okay besides the obvious?" 

"If I don't get the zip-tie around my wrists off in the next couple of hours circulation's going to become a problem but other than that I'm fine. I'm fine. The ties on my ankles are looser so there's no circulation issue." 

Tony glances down and notices for the first time that Clint's barefoot. _Not a fun complication. Great._ But he doesn't have a lot of time to consider that because the door opens. The good news is that their captor is wearing a mask. It's one of those masks, the theater kind that actors used in that style thing. Tony frowns. _The thing, what the hell is the thing called, the masks, they're called... godda-- Noh! That's it._ It's good that there's a mask; if there's a mask there's no immediate plans to kill them because they can identify the bad guys. 

Rationally he knows this. Irrationally he curls up a bit tighter around himself on the cot and bares his teeth when the intruder approaches Clint. The man behind the mask chuckles; it's a deep, masculine chuckle so Tony knows it's a man even though the clothing's so generic and loose that it's shapeless. 

"Ah, our guests are awake. The great Iron Man, curled up on himself like a dog with its tail between its legs, cowering before its master." Another laugh and Tony knows, he knows, the bastard is looking for Tony to uncurl and prove he's not afraid. Only he is afraid and he's not willing to give the man the satisfaction of manipulating him. "And a friend. So kind of you to bring a spare." 

Ridiculously the only thing that Tony can think of is 'Kill the spare' from fucking Harry Potter and he bites back on a hysterical sound. He needs to focus. Clint needs him to focus. "So, what is it this time?" he asks, forcing himself to sound snide. He has a lot of practice with snide. Justin Hammer gave him hours of practice once upon a time, slamming the 'weapons' manufacture in public whenever he got the chance. This is just like dealing with the press, he tells himself: keep your masks on. "Blueprints to the suit? The arc reactor technology? Want me to build you a bomb? Because I've got to tell you: I don't do the last anymore and, you might be behind the times here but, I no longer have the arc reactor tech in my chest. You probably noticed the lack of, well, glowing. As for the suit... not only no but hell no." 

He expects the man to hit him, he's prepared for that; he's not prepared for the man to stomp on Clint's bare foot. 

He's not prepared for the pained gasp and gritted teeth on his teammate's face. But he shuts up because he's not going to get Clint punished because of his big mouth. He looks up at the mask, noting how creepy it looks for the first time and how unsettling it is to hear a voice come from behind that expressionless face. 

"Your bodyguard is unable to help you, as you see, but he shall help me." Tony blinks and processes that with half his still compromised attention. It sounds like the man really doesn't know who Clint is, what Clint is. This is good, very good, and Tony fights with himself to keep the realization off his face because it makes sense. Clint and Natasha have always avoided the media hype surrounding the team, using Tony and Captain (America) Steve Rogers as attention-shields, and they'd even taken to wearing masks. Natasha still did undercover work for SHIELD, after all, and Clint worked for them part time too. There’s nothing anyone can do about all the camera phone footage of the Battle of New York but that’s why Natasha dyes her hair way more than healthy (according to Pepper) and Clint has wash-out Kool-Aid purple hair spray that he applies when suiting up. 

The purple’s actually kind of hot. 

Tony forces himself to focus in on the half of himself paying attention to what's being said and catches himself up. The Masked Bastard, as Tony's decides to christen him, is threatening to hurt Clint for as long as there’s any resistance ( _’Resistance is futile!’ -- and sweet zombie baby Jesus he has never hated his tendency to think in pop culture references more than he does now_.) That's the gist of it and he can practically hear the smug smile on the Masked Bastard's real face as he adds, "I'll leave you alone to think this over but I'll be back soon." Basic kidnapping tactic #5: Let the captive stew with his own imagination because the uncertainty's worse than any actual threat you could make.

Knowing that does not actually make this easier. 

"Tony. Tony!" He snaps his head up to look at Clint, who's frowning at him. "Whatever you're thinking, blank it out of your mind. Do not give into it. And don't give into him. It doesn't matter what they do to me." 

"Like hell it doesn't matter!" Tony bursts out, yanking at his wrists until the cold bite of metal reminds him that they've been bound. "They're threatening to torture you!" 

"I know that. _I know_ , Tony. But if they get what they want from you they'll kill us both. We only stay alive so long as they still want something. Repeat that." 

Numbly, because he knows Clint's right, he repeats: "We only stay alive so long as they still want something." Then: "Fuck! Fucking fucker god damn shit fuck." 

Clint snorts, sounding amused. "Yeah. That's it. Remember that. Whatever they do, remember that. You are not saving me by giving in because they will kill me if you do give in. Remember that." 

And that's all they get because the Masked Bastard stalks back in. It tells Tony they have a live video feed with audio somewhere in here. That could be useful. 

"Are you ready to begin, Mr.Stark?" 

He takes a deep breath and reminds himself, _We only stay alive so long as they still want something._ So he snarls, "Fuck off." 

And the snap echoes in Tony's mind as the man stomps down again and breaks another toe. Clint grimaces without making a sound and then, of all things, rolls his eyes in Tony's direction. "Really? A broken toe? That's the best you can do?" 

Tony closes his eyes and wonders if this is what Steve feels like when Tony taunts the Baddie-of-the-Week. 

"Are you ready to begin, Mr.Stark?" 

Basic kidnapping tactic #21: Once the kidnapped person says 'yes' to one question it's easier to get them to yes to others. He says nothing and Clint's backhanded hard enough for his head to snap to the side. 

After that they fall into a rhythm. Question. Silence. Grunt of pain. More questions. More silence. More grunts of pain. When they've been doing this for thirty-two minutes and eighteen seconds the pained sounds stop and it's enough to snap Tony's head up to look at Clint. 

The other man's a mess, bruised and bloody. His nose looks broken -- the snap Tony heard after the last question, the one without the grunt of pain (his mind supplies without his permission) -- and is dripping blood onto his t-shirt. His cheeks are banged up from repeated slaps and the occasional punch. His lip is split from the same. His toes... Tony refuses to look down at his toes. He looks like his bruises will have bruises and Tony's sure the lack of noise is because he's passed out from the pain but as the Masked Bastard shifts away, apparently thinking the same thing and using the opportunity to bring Clint's hands around from back to tie them both to the arms of the chair instead, Tony gets a good look at his teammate's face. Clint's eyes are open, staring straight ahead. 

"Perhaps I am not being persuasive enough. I'll return." 

They're left alone and Clint is still staring straight ahead. "Clint? Hey, Green Arrow? You in there?" 

Nothing. Fuck. Can you still stare if you have an aneurysm? Breathe? Tony can't remember, he can't remember and he's _pissed_. This isn't supposed to happen to him. He should be able to think his way out of this. He built the first Iron Man suit from a pile of scrap metal for fuck's sake. He needs to think! 

Stall them. It's how he handled the Ten Rings. It might work again. Give them just enough of what they want to get them to stop the torture but not enough to help them. 

"I can do this," he tells himself and tries not to think about Clint not mocking him for the habit. "We only stay alive so long as they still want something." When the Masked Bastard comes back into the room with a small bag Tony says, "Yes, I'm ready to begin." 

\------------------

Pain. The first thing to register is pain. From his head to his toes, though not much in between, not yet. They'll get to it eventually, they always do. Barney and Buck and Jacques. It ends with too much alcohol and being kicked to the ground. He hates it when they drink. He's never good enough then and when he makes mistakes, even 'mistakes' that aren't mistakes, he gets punished. 

He loses the thought and fades out again. 

He comes back to the sounds of talking. Question, then answer. Question, then answer. Some of the answers are extensive and he knows the voice but he can't place it. The pain's still there but it's less intense now even if the voices sound very far away. He thinks that sound has never been his best ally but he can't remember why. By trying to grasp the thought he can't hold onto it and he fades again. 

**Pain**. He blinks aware to the knowledge that the pain receptors are trying to tell the body that something has just gone very wrong. He knows the body is his. Neither of these things matter. 

He doesn't remember this but he does remember this; it's the sensation of déjà vu when he can't remember what déjà vu is exactly. 

No, wait, French, he thinks. The sensation that you have done this thing before. He wants to laugh but it makes no sound. He has done pain before. The pain builds to an edge and then the brain shuts down to protect itself. Everything goes black. 

The next time he wakes up he remembers that he is Clint Barton, he's currently kidnapped by persons of unknown origin, and Tony Stark has been prone to panic attacks since Loki's attack on New York. 

\------------

Fuck. Fuck! FUCK! SHIT, Fucking Shit! He can't breathe. He can't breathe. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Breathing, breathing, he has to breathe. He has to breathe. Fuck! Get goddamn hold of yourself, Tony, and taking a fucking breath! 

He does and it hurts like a motherfucker, stabbing pain throughout his body as the oxygen-starved cells open greedily for more, but he takes another breath and another. Eventually he realizes someone is talking to him. 

_Clint!_

"That's it, Tony. You can do this. Take another breath. That's a good boy. You're fine. You're going to be fine. Keep breathing. Yeah, that's the way. Can you open your eyes for me?" 

When Tony opens his eyes he knows he's not hallucinating. He also thinks he might throw up. Blood trickles in spurts and streams from Clint as the injuries slowly clot, too slowly for Tony's liking. Clint passed out and then the Masked Bastard left, taking his fucking tools with him. The wounds are superficial for the most part, though that last one, when Tony refused to explain how the arc reactor works... He can see the too dark blood pooling in Clint's shirt along the right shoulder and he knows it's because of a burst eardrum. The little piece of flesh is still sitting there on the floor. 

Oh, yeah, he’s going to have nightmares about this. 

He knows Clint is injured, badly injured, the sort of 'death by a thousand cuts' injured that gives their captor plenty more opportunity to inflict damage without risking his subject's death, but he doesn't know what the fuck happened. 

"You stopped reacting. To anything. I thought you'd had a fucking aneurysm!" he snaps at Clint because the stress and panic needs to go somewhere, adrenaline still flooding his system. "What the hell happened?" 

"I... Oh." Clint blinks heavily a few times and then lets his eyes simply close again but he isn't back to being passed out because he speaks after a few seconds. "It happens. It’s... Don’t worry about it Tony.." 

"Don’t tell me what to fucking worry about," he snarls. Tony really doesn't mean to. He wants to be calm. He wants to be supportive. He wants to help. But all he can do is picture Clint's blank, dead eyes. 

"The important thing is I can handle this. I can do this. You can do this. You're doing fine. Keep doing what you’re doing. Don't answer the questions that cross the line. Don’t give them the arc reactor." Clint sighs. "Tony... Tony, I need to rest before they come back, okay? I need to rest while I can. Are you going to be okay if I do that?" 

Tony wants to snap 'You're asking if _I'm_ going to be okay?' but he bites back on that impulse because it won't help. Instead he says, "Yes. The panic attack passed. I should rest too." 

If Clint notices the stilted, barely restrained way Tony says all that the other man chooses not to say anything. Then his breathing slows but not so slow Tony worries he'll stop breathing and the tension slips out of his body. 

Tony doesn't rest. His hands are once again cuffed to the railing. The Masked Bastard uncuffed him from the bar but kept his hands locked together when asking questions so that Tony could write down and sketch the information. They watched him the whole time and wouldn't give him anything electronic, even something with no outside access point. He can't even remember the last time he used pen and paper instead of JARVIS's imaging system and it took him a while to get the hang of it, which helped stall as well. They hadn't hurt Clint for _that_. 

Instead of resting Tony worries about what he's going to do when the Masked Bastard returns because he cannot, will not, give up the information about the arc reactor. He doesn't even store the full data set on JARVIS's closed server because while it is an amazing source of clean energy Tony never forgets the capacity it has as a weapon. A weaponized arc reactor could be catastrophic, even discounting all the other sorts of weapons the reactor could power, and he won't be responsible for destruction on a scale last seen in Hiroshima. Neither Clint's life or his own life is worth that. Maybe if he repeats it often enough he’ll recover even if Clint dies here. 

He doesn’t feel optimistic about that possibility. 

For a while he just keeps that thought on repeat, mixing in Clint's advice ('We only stay alive so long as they still want something.') for variety every little bit, and his mind goes into a sort of storage mode that happens when he zones out while focusing on a new idea or falls into the rhythm of a repetitive action. It isn't as restive or restorative as actual sleep but actual sleep and Tony only have a glancing acquaintance. They're definitely not on a first name basis. But the mental repetition is better than the panic so Tony clings to it until he hears the crack of a door opening. 

\--- 

1/3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is still having a sincerely bad day. Tony's isn't much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings apply as the first chapter.

Another captor. This one is shorter than the first and wearing a different Noh mask, carrying a roll of cloth and a medical kit. Tony's breath hitches in his throat but he manages not to panic. He's thirsty and terrified and nauseous from the smell of blood but he is _not_ going to have a panic attack while their captors are in the room. He won't give them the satisfaction. 

Though Captor #2 seems to be ignoring him completely. 

S/he goes over to Clint first and kneels down, opening her-his supplies are her-his feet. For the moment Tony's mind decides to go with 'she'; 'she's small enough for it, anyway, about the size of Natasha. The comparison does not help Tony's composure but he's too curious (or maybe sickly fascinated, like a slow motion train wreck) to panic now. He finds out that the medical kit has bandages, medical tape, sterile wipes, and scissors but none of those things help him because while he could reach them with his feet from the cot, he's tall enough, he can't risk attacking their captor until he's sure he can disable her. So he watches as she carefully wipes away the blood and bandages the broken bones while he wonders why Clint is getting medical care. Shouldn't they want him to see Clint bloody and broken because of Tony's refusals? 

When he glances up and sees Clint's clean, revealed face for the first time he barely stops himself from gagging and stops wondering. It's a snapshot of pain and suffering stuck in his head, a jigsaw puzzle his mind refuses to put together because he can put it together but then he can never unsee it. Maybe once he would have looked back, made himself see, but that was years and more than one bout of PTSD ago. 

He tells himself he’s smarter now but, honestly, he’s just less emotionally masochistic. 

“Why do you want the arc reactor technology?” he asks to distract himself and to gather information. Every question they ask him is information that helps reveal their intentions. Ten Rings was easier, in a way, because they stated outright what they wanted. Killian did too. They put it all on the table from the outset so that he knew what the end goal was. So far these clowns -- Japanese clowns! his brain supplies unhelpfully with the sudden image of Asian rodeo -- have asked some mostly generic questions: how is Stark/Avenger tower powered? What is Stark Industries currently working on? And computer passcodes. The last had been particularly frustrating because of JARVIS; it wasn’t widely known that the AI existed or, at least, was so fully integrated to every aspect of Tony’s life. Tony didn’t have passcodes because JARVIS verified the information through biometrics. 

He’d had to explain the details of biometrics; he was definitely _not_ dealing with rocket scientists. 

That last bit of knowledge helped a lot, though, and he’d gotten into answering after that in as much detail as possible, sketching out the various equations and models on paper after paper. Even if they had an engineer vaguely of his calibre on standby it’d take days to verify all that information and by now the team would be looking for them. JARVIS, Pepper, and Rhodey would be looking for them. The equations were off, of course, with a bunch of small mistakes that could, with intense scrutiny, be ferreted out over time but it should never come to that. Even if they did manage to fix the equations they weren’t ever exactly the ones they wanted. 

Tony Stark has been playing sleight of hand tricks with the world since the first time someone set him in front of a camera at four years old and he isn’t going to let some two-bit masked hoodlums break his streak. 

“Your country is not the only one in the world that would like to reduce its reliance on foreign oil, Mr. Stark.” The voice is feminine though somewhat tinny behind the mask, similar to the first captor’s. 

Even as he registers that detail (note to self: masks are likely made of some sort of metallic compound, not plastic or porcelain) he’s working on the others. He hadn’t been sure from the first captor’s accent, which had the softness in English that comes from years of constant exposure to English-speaking natives (actual English people in this case), but this woman’s accent is purer to the source. Despite the Noh masks she’s definitely not Japanese but she might be Korean. 

Fuck them if they’re in North Korea. 

“There’s a lot of countries that’d like to do that, sweetheart. I can tell you right now that I’m not giving that technology to an enemy of the United States. It’s not going to happen no matter what you do to me... or Clint. Clint wouldn’t want that.” 

Clint doesn’t say anything, he hasn’t said anything during the entire bandaging process even though his eyes have opened again. From his cot Tony can see them and he’s never thought they looked like ice before but they do now. It reminds him of Natasha’s eyes when she plans to kill someone and he still gets a shiver when he remembers that look, not because she aimed to kill but because if she felt anything because of it he couldn’t tell. He can’t tell if Clint is feeling anything now. And maybe he should consider that a relief because he knows from experience how much torture can hurt but he can’t shake the feeling something is very wrong with this picture. 

Oh, who is he kidding? Everything is wrong with this picture.

Captor #2 doesn’t say anything and she’s closing up the kit now, getting ready to leave again, and Tony asks, “Why now? It’s been all over the news that we’ll be releasing the tech commercially in the next fiscal year.” The modified tech that he will personally install and maintain because he’s not ending up with another Ten Rings situation, not ever again. 

“Yes, to the highest bidder. Is not so?” 

“It has a steep start-up cost like any new source of energy if you don’t have the right infrastructure. Knowing how to make an arc reactor isn’t going to change that.” He shakes his head. “It’s only the battery. You have to have a disbursement mechanism; that’s not my side of the equation.” If this is all because some idiot doesn’t understand what an arc reactor actually does... After a moment Tony swallows that thought because screaming at their captors will only get his teammate hurt and right now none of Clint’s injuries are life threatening; it’d be best if they stay that way. 

“Can you design the ideal infrastructure?” And the Masked Bastard’s returned. It’s not good that Tony didn’t exactly notice the door opening (though it doesn’t help he still refuses to look up for more than a second at a time, what with Clint in his direct line of vision). 

It’s worse that Tony follows through with his first impulse and asks, “Did you seriously just ask me that?” He backtracks when the man stalks toward Clint in two strides, yelling, “Wait, wait, wait! Yes, I can. Of course I can. What do you think I did for my own buildings? But I can’t change how expensive it is, for the record. You’re going to need supplies that cost a lot of money. And palladium. A shitload of palladium.” 

“How much?” 

“It depends on how large an area you want to power and what their requirements are. I need specs if you want the best delivery system and the information about supplies. Listen, just. Listen. If you show me proof that you’re not an enemy of the United States then I’ll build this for you, willingly, and even help out a bit on the fiscal side. My goal is clean energy for everyone and it’s already been built into the estimates that to do that we’d have to front a lot of the supplies for more impoverished areas.” He shakes his head. “You show me proof, you won’t need to keep us prisoner.” 

“And if this is an impoverished area inside of a larger area currently at odds with your government?” 

_North Korea. Son of a bitch. Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them! Goddamnit!_ “Where?” 

“Your eyes say that you know where.” 

He closes them because looking right now will not help anything. He can’t do this. The consequences to himself, to Clint, they don’t matter. He can’t put this sort of technology inside the borders of, “North Korea.” 

“Our government exists while in suppression of the people. We wish to combat this but do not have the necessary resources. We need your help,” Masked Bastard agrees. 

Tony forces himself to look up his teammate and friend, the same one that’s simply staring forward as if he hasn’t heard a word being said. And what can he do? What the fuck can the great Tony Stark do now? First, Tony simply takes a deep breath and then he says the words that started the change within him what feels like a lifetime ago: “I refuse.” 

“I see.” He spits out something in another language, presumably Korean, and Tony misses JARVIS like an ache in his damn chest. Captor #2 leaves, the door slamming shut behind her, and the Masked Bastard gestures towards the clipboard and pen Tony put down from last time. He comes over, undoes the cuffs from the railing only to reattach them as soon as the chain clears the bar. They did this before too. The clipboard is shoved into his lap and the Masked Bastard stands in front of him. “I am sorry for what it has come to, Mr. Stark. So I give you another chance. What specifications would you need?” 

Instead of answering Tony closes his eyes, turns away, the clipboard still pressed into his lap but the pencil tossed the other direction. The Masked Bastard spits out something else in Korean and the door opens from the sound of it but still Tony refuses to engage. The hand suddenly yanking at his hair, drawing his head up and back, only half-surprises him and he takes a few deep breaths, waiting, trying to catch a glimpse of the person holding him in the corner of his eye. He can’t even turn his head to look, the grip’s too tight for that, and it pisses him off not to be able to see this. The only thing he gets is that this one’s too large to be Captor #2. 

So, there’s at least three. It’ll be a party soon.

“Hey, nice to meet you. Could you loosen up the grip on the hair a smidge? I’d rather not go prematurely bald, thanks.” Masked Bastard says a word and the Simon Says doll shakes Tony like a dog with a bone. “And, oh, great, the nausea’s back.” 

“You will watch, Mr. Stark. You will see the consequences of your inaction. If you close your eyes your companion will suffer for that as well. Do we understand each other?” 

Eight thoughts cross Tony’s mind in the next second and a half. Five of them are made up primarily of curse words. Two end in tears. And the last one... He could delay them some more. He could pretend to play along. It’ll take them a while to get the specs he needs, he’s pretty sure of that, and if it doesn’t then they have an engineer on call, which is important information. 

The team must be getting close now, even if they had to go against SHIELD orders to do it and potentially ignite a war. Black Widow would do that for Clint, no question, and Steve isn’t going to leave a teammate behind enemy lines if he has a choice. Hell, he once did an impossible mission behind enemy lines for his buddy Bucky and a platoon of strangers. So they’re coming and they need time. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Oh?” Tony slants his eyes over to look directly at the Masked Bastard, who’s cocked his head, instead of the forced gaze toward Clint. Clint’s bruises definitely have bruises of their own already. “We know your reputation Mr. Stark and how determined you are in your mission. That is why you went out yesterday, to destroy the things designed by you before?” 

Yesterday. It’s been a day. Good news, that’s good news, and Tony struggles not to show that in his eyes. In the end he looks away, back to Clint. It drags his attention to the details that he’s been avoiding so far but one of them’s strange enough to distract him. The other man isn’t slumped forward in exhaustion or the futile attempt to curl in on himself that Tony knows from experience you _want_ to do. Instead he’s still sitting up straight, like a day at the park. 

_... the fuck is wrong with him?_

Then Tony is talking because talking is one of his best things. “You want to fight your country, right? You want to take down the government? That’s a good goal. A great goal, now that I think about it. No one sane who’s actually living in the U.S. wants the current government of North Korea in power, not with the threat of nuclear war and all that other bullshit. I sort of promised my government that I wouldn’t go topple other governments, you know, even though I could, but this wouldn’t be me. It’d be you. That could work.” Tony nods as much as he’s able and winces when it pulls a few strands of his hair out. His neck’s starting to ache too from being pulled back in an awkward position for too long and, speaking of awkward positions, the hand pressing down on his back to force him eye level with Clint is sort of making it harder to breathe. Being let up anytime now would be great. 

“You will give us the plans for an arc reactor?” 

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll build one.” He swallows. Please let them believe him. Please let them --

The Masked Bastard yanks Clint’s head back and it goes without any resistance, not even trying to press on the hand now compressing the throat. Clint’s throat, which is caught between that hand and the high back of the chair. _Fuck._ “We are not Razza and his Ten Rings, Tony Stark. You will not trick us.” Then: “Close your eyes and he pays.” 

Tony doesn’t close his eyes though he can’t quite keep away the shine in them from the sense of helplessness he remembers so vividly when Pepper was taken by Killian. He remembers yanking on the zip ties around his wrist, trying to get to Killian, to find out where Pepper was, and how futile it was. He has handcuffs now and a chain between them, one that could be used for choking, but the hands on him give him nothing when he starts to struggle as Clint gasps.

“Fuck, fuck! Stop! You’re going to kill him! You kill him and you’re out of a hostage, right? Can’t do much if you’re out of a hostage. I got over the fact I was going to die young and badly a couple of years ago, pal, so without a hostage you have no leverage. So, stop, fucking stop!” 

The hand releases and now Clint’s head goes forward, the man gasping and coughing with wet hacks until he can breathe again. His eyes are dead but at least it’s not from a lack of oxygen. 

“Do not test me again. You will not like the results.” 

“I need the specs.” 

The Bastard barks out an order in Korean and suddenly the hands on Tony let go and shove him, shove him hard enough he’s forced off the cot to sprawl on the tile floor, his hand hitting Clint’s left leg. 

Clint’s left leg! 

Digging his fingers into the fabric of Clint’s pant leg, Tony starts to heft himself up but stops mid-move like he’s dizzy or rethinking it. To buy time he asks, “Is it alright if I get up now or should I stay down here? I can stay down here if that’s what you want. Just don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him anymore.” While he talks, something he could do -- and has done -- not only half-asleep but completely fucking loaded and possibly high, he moves his hands where they’re now shielded by the position of his body. Two pockets near the ankle, easily reachable from crouching position but designed to work with the hem of the pant leg for ease of movement, are all he has to work with so he pockets one of the spare arrowheads from one pocket before moving on to his real goal. He’s just grabbed that and slammed the flap back down when hands grab him from behind, flinging him back onto the cot. 

“I will have a meal brought in while we retrieve the information you require.” 

Tony mutters, “Thanks so much for your cooperation,” to himself and drops the items in his hands so he can move a thigh over them when sitting properly. That part goes off without a hitch and he doesn’t resist when the pencil is placed back in his hand, the clipboard on his lap, and he’s told to write down what specs he needs precisely. He keeps on not resisting as Captor #3, Mr. Grabbyhands, reattaches his cuffs to the bar. This time they use a second set of handcuffs, giving Tony some leeway, presumably so that he’ll be able to eat the meal they bring.

Mr.Grabbyhands mutters something back darkly, shoves Tony’s head one more time, and leaves, the Bastard following behind him. When the door slams and Tony’s sure they’re gone he lays down like he’s tired, the arrowhead digging uncomfortably into his cheek but the second item -- a spare ear piece -- near his ear canal. Clint, of all the team, goes through the most of these, even more than Bruce, because if he uses an EMP arrow a little too close by it fries the electronics. Tony’s still working on a way to shield the radio transmitter without making the ear piece metal and too uncomfortable to wear. Maybe he won’t now because, shit, an extra’s come in useful today. Some careful wiggling gets the item lined up but not deep enough to register the internal temperature and heartbeat needed to activate and that takes a couple of weird moves using his shoulder. But it works and he feels the thrum as the link comes online. 

“JARVIS?” Whispering under his breath is harder than it should be but he can’t let the camera, wherever it is, see him talking unless it’s something he’d say to Clint. 

“Sir! You’ve been kidnapped.” 

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed. Can you use this to locate me?” Louder, he says, “Hey, Clint, you hanging in there with me?” Of course it gets no response. 

“Narrowing the field now, sir. There’s some interference that I will need to filter out.” 

“Funny us ending up in North Korea of all places. I would have bet on the sandbox somewhere, like last time. Ever have a mission in North Korea?” 

“You are with Agent Barton and believe yourself to possibly be located in North Korea,” JARVIS reasons. “Please confirm so that I might convey this to the various parties currently aiding in the search for you.” 

“Yeah, okay. Not really up for talking yet?” Tony sighs. “I’d wish you’d say something Clint. This catatonia thing is really starting to freak me out.” 

“Understood. I will tell the team this information. Would you like to be patched into Captain Rogers, sir?” 

_Not really._ “What the hell. I mean, really, this is weird. Give me something here.” 

Not for the first time Tony appreciates how well JARVIS knows him and can understand even his most insensible ramblings because the AI gets it immediately and then Steve’s voice is in his ear. “Iron Man, Stark, can you give me a sitrep?” 

It takes only a beat to decide how to answer that and Tony turns his head up, looking at the ceiling and then the corners. “Hey, you, there. Whoever’s watching the camera. Could you hurry up with the food, maybe? I’m thirsty. Bottled water only, please. Don’t want me getting sick, right?” 

It takes Steve longer than JARVIS to translate. “You’re being watched, with audio too. Alright. Just try to give me as much information as you can.” 

“While you’re at it I think my friend needs more medical attention. There’s something really wrong with him, the way he’s not responding to anything with his eyes wide open. It’s creepy too but I suppose that’s neither here nor there. Remember, no hostage, no arc reactor.” 

“Does Hawkeye need immediate medical attention or is the lack of response a ruse?”

How the fuck is he supposed to answer that without giving himself away? Shit. “Hey, buddy, if you’re faking us out here now would be a really good time to say ‘boo’. Otherwise, I still haven’t ruled out that aneurysm.” 

The door opens and someone, Captor #2, maybe, from the size, walks in holding a tray with a small bottle of water on it and some food. At least Tony can smell the food -- and so can his growling stomach -- even if he can’t see it from this angle. He hisses in a way he hopes sounds like ‘Shh’ so Steve won’t give him away and asks, “Can you uncuff one hand? You’ll still have me cuffed to the railing here and that over there looks like 10 centimeters of solid metal, steel probably, so it’s not like I’m getting through that door with a spork even if I did get free.” 

She looks at him, or at least points her mask in his direction, glances at the door and looks back. “One hand.” 

“One hand, alright. I can do sketchings like that too. My muscles were starting to lock up from trying to draw with my hands so close together. It was forcing my shoulders to hunch and that made them tight and, you know what, not important.” Captor #2 doesn’t give him any good opportunities, placing the tray on the cot farthest from his hands and kneeling down on his thigh as he sits up to give her access. He grunts but gets why she’s pinning him so doesn’t fight it, though he does say, “Ooof, okay, not so close maybe, I’d like the family jewels to stay intact if it’s all the same to you.” And a moment later his left hand is free, the cuff being attached to the other cuff’s chain. “Thank you. Are you a doctor or a medic of some kind? You bandaged my friend up earlier and looked like you know what it is you’re doing.”

“I train prior in emergency. I do not know word you would use.” 

_She talks_. So far she’d been the chattiest with the least amount of attitude or violence so he goes with that and tries to keep her talking. Establishing a rapport could be helpful and, at the very least, if she gives anything away that’d mean something to Supersoldier that it doesn’t to Tony JARVIS -- and Steve, on the other end -- will hear it. The earpiece is sensitive enough for that, especially with how close she is; he should know since he designed it to be. “EMT, probably. Or paramedic. Not sure if there’s a difference there. You’re not a doctor, more like a nurse that does triage, right? You do triage.” She nods and he tries, “Patch up a lot of interrogation victims?” Her masked face turns toward him and he can all but _hear_ the frown. Backtracking, he should backtrack. “This reaction isn’t normal. I think. 

“I’m just trying to get a sense of how much experience you might have with things like this. I don’t have a lot of experience. Just the one, really.” Or, at least, only one was on public record. No need to confuse the issue. “I’m worried about my friend.” 

She stands back up and nudges the tray in his direction, putting it close enough that he can grab the water bottle and uncap it. The seal breaks and while that doesn’t guarantee it hasn’t been tampered with, especially since he doesn’t recognise the logo, he still finds it reassuring. 

“It can happen.” 

Clint had said that too. He’d said, ‘It happens.’ Did he know from his work as a SHIELD agent or had this happened before, to him? Which, hey, might also be because of SHIELD: the gift that keeps on sucking and has no return policy. “Do people come back from it?” 

“They can. It depends on... mental thought.” 

“How they think?” Tony tries, frowning as he holds the bottle out to her. “Could you see if he’ll drink something? Please?” 

While she does that he watches, the relief palpable when he sees Clint, with a little prodding, will open his mouth and swallow the water splashed into it (so surely Clint must still be in there somewhere, right?). As she offers the mostly empty bottle back he takes it and trades it for a piece of fruit from the tray. 

“Is strong?” she asks and Tony blinks for a second before he gets it. She’s asking about Clint. 

“Yeah. He’s strong.” Tony has intimate knowledge of what it’s like to crawl away from the abyss of captivity to rebuild yourself and he was there for as much as his then-new teammate would let him be while Clint did it. Not because he’d known the man well, not then, but because he didn’t know if he could help but he wanted to try. For the most part he hadn’t been needed, though he’d taken a couple of shifts Clint-watching when Natasha worried the most about all the ways Clint knew how to make weapons from every-day objects. In the end Tony had a front row seat while Clint rebuilt himself after Loki and he’d never underestimate the other man’s mental strength after watching that. 

“Then he come back.” 

_Then he come back._ Tony licked his lips, trying to keep himself calm as JARVIS and Steve offer him quiet promises about being there soon. “He better. If he doesn’t he’ll have one angry spider chasing him down to hell to kick his ass.” _Not just the spider, either._

“Spider?”

“Yeah, you know. A spider. Like a black widow.” 

He doesn’t realise what a mistake those words are until later. 

“I do nothing. He come back or not come back on own.” 

“Thanks. For bandaging him and giving him some water. I know you’re just doing what you’re told but...” Tony shrugs a shoulder awkwardly and watches her leave after a nod his direction, then he, Clint, and the comm uplink to JARVIS are alone again physically. “And then there were two,” he jokes flatly, “though I don’t feel like you’re holding up your end of the conversation here, Princess Merida.”

“Banner’s been narrowing down the field based off of the energy your suit produces and your passive transmitter so we have a general idea of where you are. JARVIS is tracking that down further right now. We’re coming. We’ll find you. We’re coming for you, Stark. Tony.” 

_Iron Man to Stark to Tony. Captain Tightass is more worried than he wants to let on,_ Tony thinks to himself with a smirk, though the smirk even falls flat in his own head. But JARVIS is coming. That means Rhodey and Pepper and the team, too. Part of him feels a little awkward that it’s the JARVIS part that reassures him the most but the AI has been with the longest, except for Rhodey and Rhodey couldn’t be around a lot. 

“Undoubtedly, sir. Captain Rogers is correct. The new protocols are active, though I suspect they could use some fine tuning upon your return. The signal was not as strong as we anticipated. However, now that you have an active link I have narrowed your location down into an actionable area, I believe.” JARVIS’s soothing voice is all but a whisper in Tony’s ear, so quiet that even someone sitting up against him would have to strain to hear it, and it’s so reassuring he can’t help but breathe easier. 

“We’re confirming that now.” He suspects, by the hitch in Rogers’s breathing and the slight change of his tone, that the man doesn’t appreciate that Tony finds the AI’s reassurances more reassuring, and that’s so fucking typical it almost draws a laugh. Rogers, when not influenced by Loki’s Scepter of Jackass, can be a good guy most of the time, Tony’s willing to admit that, but they’re very different people. And the man refuses to admit that JARVIS, if not a person, is as close as you can get without wetware. 

“The food’s not bad,” he says and he eats another bit of fruit. It’s not in their best interest to drug him so he doesn’t think they will and he’s fucking starving. Then he keeps talking like he’s addressing the camera. “But the accommodations are sort of sad. A refitted handicap shower stall was the best place you all could come up with? Though, hey, it beats a cave. And this time I don’t have a hole carved in my chest so that’s nice.” He keeps talking, babbling really, and slipping in the details he can, like complaining about Mr.Grabbyhands to the Masked Bastard while mentioning that Captor #2 seems decent enough, and in general trying not to freak out again because (a) he’s on a comms channel and (b) help is on the way. He’s in the middle of asking for more water when JARVIS begins to panic in his understated panicky way about signal intercepts but before Tony can ask for more information the Masked Bastard stalks back into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter coming up in a day or so. Enjoy and maybe spend a minute to write a comment. It'd be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's been kidnapped. Tortured. Generally had a very bad, no good day. But he has friends that'll come for him no matter what. So, in Clint's opinion, today could be counted as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence; questionable consent (medical, not sexual); referenced/implied child abuse. Un-beta'ed. 
> 
> This is the final chapter of three. It ends a bit abruptly because there is no neat, tied up ending for a situation like this.

The slam of the door against the wall sounds like a small explosion and Masked Bastard stalks in with Mr. Grabbyhands on his heels until they’re in the room and the latter grabs Tony’s head, hair-first, once again. The ear comm is yanked out and shoved in his face like a dog that’s just piddled on the carpet, which is both insulting and stupid enough he has to literally bite his tongue to keep his thoughts to himself (he’s a captive, of course he’ll contact help if he can!). This is going to be bad enough without antagonizing them.

But he doesn’t even say a word before the Bastard is on Clint, landing a kick to the ribs that makes a snap so loud Tony flinches. Then a backhand to the face. But the thing that makes Tony blanch is the small metal mallet the torturer pulls out of his pocket. It comes down on Clint’s spread out left hand with a deafening crack and then again as Tony starts yelling “Stop it!” over and over. But it doesn’t stop until all the bones are broken, until the hand’s a mess, unfixable by normal medicine. 

Clint, never able to use a bow again. 

That can’t happen and Tony knows exactly how to fix it when they get home. He knows how to fix everything there. Everything physical. And he plans to do it without asking because he is _not_ going to be the reason Clint Barton, the best marksman in the world, can never shoot again. 

“Who are you communicating with, Mr. Stark?” Masked Bastard asks, sounding pissed of course. 

“My home security system.” It’s true, in a way, though JARVIS is far more than just that. 

“Where did you get the earbud?” 

“You must have missed it when you searched me.” It’s better if they don’t realise Clint’s still got things in his pockets. Not that he’s up to using them right now but Tony could. “JARVIS, my system, has already contacted my team and the earbud, when active, has GPS. They have our location and some very angry superheroes are on their way right now. And, trust me, you wouldn’t like Bruce when he’s angry. There’s no win for you, here.” So sue him, he can’t quite help himself. He just has to antagonize them, just a little. And maybe, if he’s lucky, it’ll even work to intimidate them. “If you release us somewhere away from your compound and leave then maybe you escape detection, remaining both alive and free. 

“If you’re still here and we’re still here when they get here you’re probably all going to die. That guy right there, the one you’ve been using as a punching bag? He’s the BFFs with one of the best assassins in the world. She’s very protective of him. Plus you’re about to have Captain America and the Hulk up your ass. Thor, too, if he’s getting in on the game. And if you kill us and flee? There will not be a single patch of this green earth where you will be able to hide from them. They will find you and avenge us. We are, after all, the Avengers.” 

That gets the first backhand to _his_ face, by Mr. Grabbyhands, and the blow’s hard enough that it takes a moment to get back to himself. 

But the Bastard starts spitting out rapid Korean and Grabbyhands leaves before the attention returns to Tony. “This isn’t the last time we will meet Mr.Stark. Enjoy putting your companion back together again... if you can.” 

Then he’s gone and Tony’s alone with Clint, who still stares into space like nothing can disturb his tranquility. Fuck tranquility, Tony wants his real friend back. 

The next hour goes both excruciatingly slow and shockingly fast, so much so that he suspects he’s in some degree of shock and missing time. When he is present he tries talking to Clint, tries coaxing the man out of his suspiciously catatonic-like behaviour (and do people even recover from that?). Tony gets his earbud back in and tells the team what he thinks is happening so they split up. Black Widow’s on ‘rounding them up’ detail though he suspects it’s more like ‘like God sort them out’ detail in this case. Since there’s no one left to smash Hulk isn’t really necessary, leaving the Cap and Bruce to be the cavalry -- now complete with every medical supply they can carry. Tony can see the horror seeping into their faces as they see Clint’s hand, the way it registers, how Bruce’s eyes start to go green-green-green and he fights it down, and everything else. 

So he snaps, “Uncuff me,” to Cap to break the staring contest the two of them are having with Clint’s injuries and, after a moment, the man comes over and uses his super-strength to easily snap the chain at its source. 

Bruce is kneeling in front of Clint now, talking to him in a low voice as he starts a medical check with picture perfect trauma training (he’s recently brushed up with an EMT course; Tony suspects this says something bad about the team or maybe the team’s enemies). Steve moves to stand guard at the door, as if expecting to be ambushed at any moment. And Tony?

Well, Tony goes over to Clint, kneeling next to Bruce and Bruce’s medical bag, and slips his hand inside one of the inside pouches with a claim that he needs something for his wrists. He doesn’t but Bruce’s attention isn’t really on him anyway so that goes smoothly. Then he has the injection mechanism in his hand, uncapped and activated, and palms it while he stands. 

By the time Bruce or Cap notice anything the Injet™ is buried in Clint’s neck, the plunger triggered, and it’s too late to stop it. Then Tony’s being slammed up against the wall by Cap, who’s almost _growling_ , “What did you do? Stark, what the hell did you just do?” 

Tony blurts the answer out in a rush that even in auditory form clearly doesn’t have punctuation, “It’s Extremis that’s all he’s compatible I had him tested it’ll fix his hand.” Then, slowly, “It won’t hurt him.” He winces. “After the initial absorption phase, at any rate.” 

“Extremis,” Bruce says in a low tone, checking Clint’s pulse with a small, portable reader. He’s stopped all the other aid, however, so he gets what’s going on. “The stuff that Pepper got forced into her by Killian. The stuff you took to heal up your chest.” 

“Yeah. That was actually my emergency stabilizer, in case something, anything really, happens in the field and I need a quick regulator. But it’s the right dosage to work as an introductory trigger.” 

Then the physicist-cum-medic is on his feet. Cap’s released Tony from his pin against the wall and stepped back but that only makes it easier for Bruce to grab the front of Tony’s shirt, lift him up despite them being almost the same height, and shake him hard enough he thinks his brain might have been jarred. “What the hell is wrong with you, Tony? You don’t, you don’t _do_ things like that without asking first. You don’t -- Christ, he should have been given a choice.” 

“He’s injured because they kidnapped me. They tortured him because it was better leverage against me than torturing _me_ would have been. He’s broken and bloody and bruised and fucking _non-responsive_ because of me! I had to do something to fix that, to _begin_ to make up for this. Fuck you. This is the only way his hand was going to get fixed and you know it.” He struggles and Bruce drops him, steps away. 

“You better hope this doesn’t come back to bite you on the ass. He might not be nearly as grateful as you think he’ll be.” 

“I don’t need his gratitude, goddamnit. He doesn’t owe me anything, I owe him.” 

“We can argue about this later,” Cap cuts in. “Banner, is it safe to carry him or put him on a stretcher at this point? Stark, you need to find your armor if you can.”

Right. Armor. That’s important. Tony starts to go over to Clint only to make Cap’s arm swing out like a clothesline in a football game. “I need to get something from one of his pockets if you want me to find my suit. They emptied all of mine.”

“Fine. Get it.” 

“Fine.” 

∂

The chill between them descends into icy territory as the tension continues ratcheting up as the rescue progresses. Bruce is still furious, though Tony’s more than a little confused as to why he’s angry enough it must be personal somehow. Cap’s still on edge over the whole situation. And they’re all freaked the fuck out that Clint’s completely passive, never resisting their actions. He’s cooperating with the most basic of ones (like drinking more water) but that seems more reflexive than anything. Widow’s still MIA with Thor, except on comms, as she hunts the bastards down to make merry work of their innards (or so Tony gathers from her half of the conversations). 

The only relieving thing, at this point, is that Tony has his suit back. He hasn’t put it back on, even though he’d kind of like the security of it, so it’s stored off the side of the quinjet. The pilot, some SHIELD agent Tony’s pretty sure he’s never met before, looks like she would love to be anywhere but an enclosed space with the three of them right about now as the hours of flight pass with no more than a dozen words between them. 

The transport to SHIELD NY’s medical bay remains as tense as the flight. And then the doctors take over and they’re being shoved out and the waiting starts. 

Cap keeps giving Tony accusing looks until finally the engineer snaps, “He’s compatible! I wouldn’t have given it to him if I didn’t know he can survive it!” 

It’s Bruce who speaks up, “What do you mean, compatible?” Bruce hasn’t really touched the whole Extremis thing, which Tony’s been doing on the downlow ever since Pepper’s little horror show, Evil Overloads ‘visit’ with Killian, so it’s not terribly surprising he edges out a barely controlled question like that. 

“Extremis works by latching onto a chromosomal variation and causing a mutation that triggers a chemical recode of part of the brain. If you have the variation you get super-healing and some other varied abilities. If you don’t, you go boom.” Tony holds his hands up to ward off any freakouts. “But Clint does. It’s not exactly a rare thing to have and I checked all of the team for it, you know, in case. The stabilizing shots, the ones Pepper and I take, are just to control the flow of the chemicals governing repair so they don’t become overactive and --”

“You go boom,” Bruce finishes with a sneer. “Jesus, Tony. But, it doesn’t matter now. It’s done and there’s no reversal process. Is there a reversal process?” 

“Uh, I might be able to develop one, maybe. It hasn’t really been a priority because it’s not something Pepper or I want removed. Well, Pepper did the first week or so but then she realised the applications if we get attacked again, which we probably will, and then she asked me to build her Rescue.” 

“Rescue?”

“It’s her suit. Whatever, I didn’t name it, she did. I made her an Iron Woman suit for her birthday along with the present she bought for herself from me.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Not the point. If Clint wants that I’ll look into it to the best of my ability. Right now I’m a bit more worried about the whole catatonic thing.”

And then Bruce is off, talking about trauma and dissociative states and recovery, words and words that are clearly Greek to Cap and that Tony has no interest in. He only cares about one word: yes. As in ‘yes’ Clint will be fucking okay. Because he better be. 

∂

Waiting is somewhere between the most frustrating thing Tony has ever done and an exercise in not storming the castle but somehow, somehow, he manages to stick to his little chair outside the actual medical stuff and stay. Even if Cap does look likely to strangle him in the near future. 

Then there’s a doctor coming out with a relieved expression, an ‘I don’t have to tell Captain-fucking-America his teammate is a vegetable’ expression, and Tony breathes for the first time in what feels like days. His knees even feel a little shaky as they’re told Clint’s awake, he’s responsive, and thanks to the Extremis he’s physically immaculate. 

None of them wait for the doctor to say they can go in to see him. 

They find him sitting up in a tilted bed in the med bay’s trauma section, a pillow propped up behind his head and a tablet with stylus in his hands. He’s writing quickly -- not furiously like he thinks he’ll forget what he means to say but quickly like he knows exactly what he wants to say -- and he doesn’t look up until they’re all three hovering at the side of his bed. The first words out of his mouth are so typically Clint that Tony lets out a little laugh of relief. 

“Who the hell dosed me with Extremis?” 

“Tony.” Bruce still sounds pissed. Damn. 

But Clint doesn’t look it. He looks contemplative, if anything, and he nods. “Thanks. I couldn’t have dealt, not with my hand the way it was thanks to that mallet. Maybe if I start breathing fucking fire I’ll be a little less chill about the whole dosing me with superserum type-E thing but, for now, good.” 

Tony grins, glad his friend isn’t angry at him the way the other two are, but then the rest of the words catch up to him. “Wait, who told you about the mallet?” 

“No one.” Clint shakes his head. “You know, I’m in better physical shape than I’ve been since I was 20. Maybe ever, actually. The doctor says the stuff’s working on old scar tissue now that it’s dealt with immediate traumas.” 

“You were... you, like, weren’t there... you were catatonic or something. How do you even know about the mallet?” He knows he’s starting to sound a little borderline hysterical but he’d been terrified and had Clint been there, able to answer, all along? Fuck. 

“You remember -- After the first round, when they left... You were having a panic attack and I helped you calm down, right?” He nods and Clint continues, “Then I told you I needed to rest. I put myself down into a dissociative state. As upset as you were by me not responding I thought it’d be worse if I showed pain. And if it was worse you might have cooperated with them for real. You’ve accepted you’re probably going to die bloody, which I have no plans of letting happen by the way, but you’re viciously protective of the rest of us.” 

“How did you even do that?” It’s the only question Tony can think to ask in the big ‘what-the-fuck’ blank in his head. 

“During counter-interrogation training you’ve taught different techniques to resist torture until help can arrive. Most of them are only partially helpful but any port in a storm, right? One of the techniques they introduced was training your mind to enter a dissociative state on command. The drawback is that you can’t get out of it until the trauma stops, you’re locked in. The advantage is that if you _can’t_ talk then you _won’t_ talk. Or, in this case, scream in pain. 

“I aced that course with screaming colours without having to lift a finger. I’d already been doing it since I was a kid anyway. It’s not a big deal. And it’s useful. The pain felt distant but I still saw everything that happened, the best of both options.” Clint shakes his head and then shrugs before nodding at the tablet. “I’m writing out a report for SHIELD now. When I’m done you can just add any technical details I might’ve missed instead of writing your own account, if you want.” 

“Okay.” 

Only it’s not okay because that is, as Tony suspected from the start, sincerely fucked up. He trades a look with Bruce when Cap distracts the topic of their eye-conversation and they fall back as the All-American Boy(scout) does his comfort-and-care song and dance. 

When Bruce nods over to an out of the way corner Tony nods and then they’re out of hearing range for Clint at least. “That’s fucked up. That’s fucked up, right? It’s not just me that finds it completely fucked up? Because it really is. Completely.” He issues a vehement, “Fuck,” under his breath and resists the urge to punch the wall. The wall always wins. 

“I didn’t know Clint had been abused as a child. Did you?” 

That stops him cold and he stares at his science bro and good friend like the man’s suddenly started speaking Klingon. “What? What do you mean abused?” 

Bruce frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose, his glasses pushed up by the side of his hand. They stand there, staring at each other, for another moment before he answers, “He said he’s been entering these states since he was a child. The states that protect your mental faculties from being compromised during extreme trauma. That requires extreme trauma.” 

“That he went through as a kid. Repeatedly. Right.” Tony manages to slam his way into an unisex bathroom and bum rush the toilet before he pukes up what little food he ate earlier. Bruce hangs out just inside the door, securing it tightly closed behind him so everyone doesn’t see Tony on his knees in front of the toilet losing it. And Tony loses it, cursing for a minute straight, his voice raising with rage and lowering with threat until he’s all purged of the unhelpful little responses that come with learning something like this. Then he stands. “We should find out if any of them are still alive. JARVIS can help. He likes Clint.” 

JARVIS thought, since the understated break-up with Pepper that really only meant they stopped fucking, that Tony should ask Clint out but he isn’t going to tell Bruce that. 

“We can worry about that later. Right now let’s just go be supportive to our team member. You need to get checked out too.” 

“I’m fine. The worst they did to me was a backhand at the end,” Tony protests but it’s useless, of course. 

Twenty minutes later he has a clean bill of health from medical, pending blood test results, and a compulsive need to glance over at Clint to make sure he’s fine approximately every 3.6 seconds (according to JARVIS). He might even suggest sleeping in the same room tonight because Tony’s sure that’s the only way he’s going to sleep. 

Even the arrival of a rather bloody Widow and Thor, who both declare that almost none of the blood is theirs, _calm down_ , isn’t the distraction it could be but it gets most of the team away from hovering over Clint, who’s already complaining about that. As if by agreement they all back off while Natasha’s being looked over, bloody clothes collected from one place as nearly identical ones appear from somewhere else. Well, that makes sense. SHIELD must have doubles of her outfit in case one gets damaged. When she’s dressed she lets the doctors check her out while she sits on Clint’s bed, her hip pressed against his thigh, and the rest of the team ends up collected in the same quiet corner. 

“You’re sure you got all of them?” Cap asks as soon as Thor notices they’ve moved together and joins them.

“Verily. The Warrior Natasha believes so as well. If there are more in on this plot they were not present.” 

“Okay. We can’t deal with those, not yet.”

“Once you were able to activate JARVIS did he copy all of their data?” Bruce asks. 

Which only makes Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course he did.” 

“Of course he did. Well, that’s the best chance to find out if these people were working alone or not.” He glances over at Clint and adds, “So...”

Cap cuts in, “How are you doing, Tony?” 

“Me? I’m fine. Okay, I’m freaked the fuck out about Clint’s little mental disappearing act but, other than that, fine. I’m kind of getting used to this whole kidnapped thing. It gets easier.” He doesn’t look like he sees the humor but Tony only lifts an eyebrow in a short gesture to communicate he always jokes about things. 

“Alright. SHIELD is still going to want you to speak to someone for trauma, I think.” 

“Oh, look who’s all up on 21st century psychology practices.” 

“Tony.” 

“I’ve got my own guy. A regular appointment. Pepper makes sure I go ever since the anxiety thing.” He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

At least Cap seems to get that message. “Do any of you know what happened with Clint? I’ve seen a lot of shock in soldiers and it never works like this. At least I don’t think it did.”

“It wasn’t shock,” Bruce agrees as Tony steps away. He doesn’t want to hear Bruce’s theories about why Clint could do this so easily and for so long. It’s better if he doesn’t stay, doesn’t get sick again. 

He starts heading toward the door to go get a breath of air that doesn’t smell like antiseptic when he sees Clint motioning him over before nodding at Natasha in some signal only she understands. She gets up and walks away immediately. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” Tony sits on the edge of the bed awkwardly, not really sure why the other man wants to see him or what to say once you’ve been held captive together. 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s so ridiculous he laughs. “Fuck, no, I’m not okay. But, I’ll deal. I handled the Chitauri thing and Afghanistan without cracking up. Probably make my therapist very happy for the forseeable future but...” He pauses because that’s something he can do. “I can get you an appointment. I mean, I’ll pay for it, I know SHIELD won’t. That way you can talk to someone who’s not going to repeat everything you say to Fury.” 

Clint winces. “Yeah.” Then he smiles. “You know, Nat used to use them as an opportunity to practice her counter-interrogation skills, like a game. It took the damn psych four months to catch on. She was pretty proud of herself.” 

“You two have the strangest hobbies.” 

He laughs. “Eh, strange childhoods and all that. Sometimes it’s really not surprising the two of us turned into the happy little killers we did.” 

Tony blinks. _Random_. “You’re not --” _That makes no fucking sense._

“Yeah, we are. If I just wanted to shoot I could have joined the military, done spec ops. But while you might need to kill someone on a mission like that it’s usually not the goal. If only because dead men are hard to interrogate. My SHIELD missions, on the other hand, were all assassinations. Some people do that solely for money. They have the ability to turn off the part of them that cares they’re killing long enough to get paid. Clean. Nat and I... we --. 

“It’s a rush. I can’t really explain it. The sort of rush you can’t get doing pretty much anything else except... And the other way -- Huh, funny. Those would be a lot less dangerous to do now, you know.” 

Tony doesn’t and he’s not quite sure he wants to know but he asks, “What’s that?” 

“Oh! Oh. SHIELD has these missions labeled D.O.D., Dods. It’s short for dead-on-delivery because they drop you off with an objective and that’s it. You’re on your own. No resources but what you brought with you. No extraction team. Nat and I have the record for number of Dods completed, over double of the team under us.” 

He frowns. Not because he doesn’t understand the self-destructive rush of it all because he does. He lived like that for _years_ with only luck and Pepper to attribute for his survival. Even now, as Iron Man, he’s only replaced one addictive rush for another. He gets it. But he doesn’t want to lose his friends. He doesn’t have many of them. “You don’t do those anymore, right?” 

“Dods? Nah. Avenger stuff is way more entertaining anyway.” Clint grins. Then frowns, cocking his head. “You don’t seem unsettled or anything. People are. Usually. I don’t talk about it much because people usually are. Except Tasha, she’s like me.” He groans. “Fuck, I’m always chatty after an episode. Ignore me, please. Better yet, tell them a sedative that’ll work with Extremis.” 

“I knew you were assassins. So long as you don’t plan to murder anyone on the team, or Pepper or Rhodey or Happy, in their sleep it doesn’t really change anything for me.” Tony shrugs. It’s disturbing, on some level, but he’d hacked into their files ages ago to see exactly how dangerous the people he invited to live with him might be. He’d dealt with any residual freakout then.

“No. Of course not. And if I was it’d be Bruce. He’s still looking for a way to die and I can’t believe he’s never thought of beheading before.” 

Tony pales. “You won’t mention that to him, right?” 

“No, no, Tony, relax. I’m not going to help Bruce off himself. He seems to be doing better, getting better, even if it’s been slow. Having you for a friend really helped him. I’m glad you’re my friend too.” 

“I just got you kidnapped and tortured.” 

Clint shrugs. “It happens.” 

At that Tony can’t help but laugh. “You know you’re really fucked up, right?” 

“Not news, no, but I’m fine. I’m happy with my life right now. It’s good.” Clint reaches out, taking Tony’s hand and squeezing it gently. “If you’re having trouble or anything, just need to talk about it with someone who was there, whatever, you come to me, alright? No matter what time it is or if I seem busy. If I’m busy with something that can’t wait I’ll tell you so don’t worry about interrupting.” 

Tony swallows harshly, tongue-tied for no apparent reason, and manages the very articulate, “Uh.” 

“Promise me.” 

“Yeah, sure, I promise. Day or night.” He shakes his head but doesn’t try to take his hand back, noticing the other man doesn’t let it go either. “I’m glad you’re okay. And I would have waited until you were... awake to ask you about the whole Extremis thing but I was pretty sure Bruce or Cap would cockblock me.” He pauses. “Er, so to speak.” 

“I get what you mean. And probably. I meant what I said. And, who knows? Maybe superpowers won’t suck entirely.” 

He laughs. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“I think that big brain of yours can probably be classified as a superpower all on its own. Superintelligence is a thing, right? I mean, it’s a potential mutation with the x-gene, I think. I read that in one of the mission files.” 

Weirdly, even though Tony knows he’s smarter than most of the world, he finds himself flushing a little and not up for his usual bragging routine. So he tries a simple, “I never thought of it that way.” 

Clint smiles. “Maybe you should. It’s probably saved our asses more than Mjolnir or Cap’s super-reflexes in the past, if you count JARVIS’s help in.” Then he leans back in the pillows and relaxes, tension flowing out of his whole body so fast its visible. 

“Tired? I should let you rest. You should rest.” 

“Thanks. I think I’ll take a nap. Doing what I did can take a lot out of me mentally. Makes me tired. Tell Nat?” 

“Sure.” His hand relaxes too, releasing Tony’s, and the engineer gets up to go rejoin the others. 

Natasha’s there, frowning her ‘I want to scream at you but I never lose my shit like that’ frown, and she looks about on the edge of punching Cap anyway. Tony reaches them just in time to hear, “-- none of your business, Rogers,” hissed in a wrathful voice. 

A smarter man would cry uncle right there but Cap’s got a hard head. “Clint’s part of the team. We need to know these sort of things so we know how each other are going to respond. What Clint did was weird -- it’s no wonder it scared Tony -- and we need to understand why it happened.” 

Bruce frowns too. “I told you why, Steve. We know why, the details of why don’t matter.” Ah, now Tony knows what they’re talking about too. 

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Natasha tells him but she doesn’t look like she wants to punch _him_ at least, still saving the short, murderous looks to Steve. 

“I see that now. I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean to cause...”

“Details do matter,” Steve protests. 

“You can’t understand this, Cap,” Tony cuts in. “Leave it alone. If we’re all telling you to leave it alone maybe you should consider you’re the one in the wrong here.” 

“But what he did, it’s not normal. Tony, you were there. You should understand this better than anyone.” 

“None of us are normal. Let it go.” 

For a minute it looks like the man’s going to dig his heels in or stalk off to ask Clint all about his childhood trauma right now, in front of witnesses so the rest of the team can’t stop him, but finally he nods. “For now.” 

“Great.” Tony claps his hands together. “Okay, so, Clint’s napping and I’m starving. Who’s up for burgers?” 

They all stare at him for a moment before bowing to the inevitable. He’d talk them into it if they said ‘no’ now and they know it. Burgers won’t fix everything, won’t put Tony’s shaken self-confidence be put back together, let alone the thing with Clint, but they’re a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Total word count: ~ 13,700. I am definitely planning a sequel dealing with the psychological aftermath of the events and the development of a Clint/Tony romantic relationship but have no ETA for when that might be written. 
> 
> Credit for the idea goes to azngiraffe, the anon who prompted the original idea at [avengerkink](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com). 
> 
> Comments both welcome and greatly appreciated.


End file.
